Be Careful Making Wishes in the Dark
by Midoriyama
Summary: Sometimes the past should stay in the past. But with some secrets, that's an impossibility. Especially around a certain technomage and captain.


_Damn_…

Gwen pressed her lips into a tight frown and shut her eyes, rubbing them fiercely with backs of her curled fingers. They were slick with sweat, but then, so was the rest of her, from the perspiration beading on her forehead to the damp squishy sensation between her toes. The Ouzel's environmental sensors were on the blink again. The pesky temperature glitch had persisted for weeks now, particularly within the storage bays. It wasn't a constant occurrence, just off and on and utterly bothersome. She suspected a virus…probably picked up at her freighter's last major overhaul. So far, however, G'Ylei had been unable to weed it out of the central computer system. It was only a matter of time though. Once her engineer set his mind to something, it very rarely remained unresolved. That was why the Narn was part of her crew.

At the moment, though, her concerns did not involve the fluctuating temperatures. Annoyed as she was by the steadily rising heat, it wasn't enough to sidetrack her from a more pertinent problem.

Gwen stopped rubbing her eyes and peered straight ahead. Some distance away the bay's fluorescent lighting glinted upon the sharp metallic angles of detached hull plating and the shiny copper of uninsulated wiring. Her gaze narrowed, and again the idea of spacing the piece of junk seemed to hold an attractive appeal. All she had to do was depressurize the bay, open the dock hatches, and let it float out into the void of hyperspace. It would be so easy. Too easy. Slowly she shook her head as reason persuaded her otherwise. The cannon was a disaster. She could accept the possibility of that. It might never work. Not in a million years.

_Not in a million_ _light_ _years_, she thought ruefully.

Gwen slammed a tautly curled fist against the workbench, and the unruly jumble of blueprints spread before her trembled. A few of the more tattered prints slipped unnoticed from the bench and coiled into irregular cylindrical tubes beneath it. With a low perturbed grumble she reexamined a particular section of one print, tapping it agitatedly with a finger. Deep creases marred its surface attesting to the copious number of times and ways the print had been folded and unfolded.

Gwen was well aware of how archaic it was for her to still be toting about paper plans, but she'd always felt more connected to her projects when she could touch them. She was much too tactile to be satisfied with a measly image displayed on a vid screen. Also she tended to scribble, something Sophie teased her about. She shrugged it off though; not everyone was blessed with her medic's photographic memory. For what seemed the thousandth time she traced the outer hull of the plasma cannon's schematic and stubbornly scrutinized the dimensions of the lower mounting brackets.

Disaster or not, she wasn't one to go down without a fight.

After a long moment Gwen yawned and rubbed her eyes again. _What am I missing? _she wondered drowsily.

Her luckless battle with the cannon had endured for the last several months and at the moment left her mulishly locked in a vain attempt to improve the cannon's payload mechanism. Each success she achieved with the wily bit of metal and wire had only seemed to transform into the development of a new more complex problem. Currently, the additional discharge strength that she had added was still impeding the plasma flow. Not seriously but just enough to cause disruptions with the cannon's power and safety protocols.

She sighed, perusing the undercarriage of the cannon across the bay. Cocking her head to one side, she glanced at the blueprint again, mulling over the prospects of firepower vs. a potential implosion.

In her head it wasn't a difficult debate. She could compensate for the problems. Her ship needed the firepower. But Ben would declare it an unacceptable risk.

Peevishly Gwen rolled her eyes and then reluctantly reconsidered. Her second-in-command was right, as he most frequently and infuriatingly was. It wasn't acceptable. She wanted the cannon in action, but it had to reduce risk, not increase it.

Shifting her weight, she abandoned the blue prints and walked toward the cannon. It stood derelict about twenty feet away, exposed hatches and tangled wires marring its sleek surface like some large disemboweled beast. A scowl securely fastened to her lips, she leaned forward and ran a hand down the long-shafted tube. It was heavy and ponderous and would make maneuvering the Ouzel a bitch and a half, but damn, if it wasn't a thrill to have some real firepower.

Not that her cargo vessel actually needed firepower of any kind at the present. There were no threats of eminent danger, aside from the occasional volley of raiders and unauthorized Earth Alliance perusal for contraband. In fact, it had been unusually quiet as of late in her sector of space. _Too quiet probably_, she thought with a hint of trepidation. Still, as a freighter captain, she knew the merits of being outfitted for all possibilities. The Ouzel wasn't the prettiest ship in the universe, but she could stand on her own. Gwen had spent the first six months of her cargo hauling profits ensuring the Ouzel's safety, rigging the freighter with various nasty surprises.

The cannon was her latest pet project. At the Ouzel's last port stop in the Deneb system, she'd appropriated it from a Drazi trader amidst her transactions for Mr. G. _A dubious little fellow_, she thought, recalling the man's pinched trollish face and the seedy back alley that served as his place of business. Gwen realized she was probably just on the verge of acquiring an unsavory reputation where those illicit purchases were concerned. She needed to watch herself…she was already mired too deeply as it was, and it was just luck and a bit of Mr. G's magic was kept EarthForce at bay.

She still wondered why Mr. G put up with her…she could be a hellish amount of trouble. But she supposed it was because she was good at her job and always delivered her cargo in full and on time. Even in lieu of certain legal entanglements.

Gwen, as of late, had nicknamed the cannon the Phoenix…probably in the hope that it would eventually rise from the ashes of her ill-conceived tinkering. She shrugged slightly. Hell, even if it never worked right, it gave her something to focus on during the time between hauls. And while she wasn't quite sure why, recently she'd had the prickly feeling she was going to need it as well as the other equipment scattered about the ship. Something was brewing. She could smell it in the ship's recycled air, growing heavier and more pervasive with each turn of the Ouzel's oxygen filters. She could feel it tickling beneath her skin, gradually tensing the muscles of her back, tugging at the loose strands of her hair with tiny ethereal fingers.

Something was up.

Out.

Coming.

Closer.

The feeling had been nagging her for quite some time. Ever since one of Mr. G's contacts had slipped that data crystal into her hand for transport to Mars. And then she had bumped into a Minbari Ranger ranting about…

Her communicator chirped suddenly, breaking her train of thought. "Captain? This is Ben."

Gwen reflexively tapped the com attached to her wrist. Hearing the word "captain" still sent a thrilling shiver down the back of her spine. Again her freighter was nothing much to look at, but it was all hers. "I'm here. Go ahead, Ben."

"Gwen, weren't you supposed to meet me in the Rec at 1500?" asked an amused disembodied voice.

Gwen just stopped herself from uttering an oath. She'd forgotten about practice. "Probably," she replied, annoyed.

Her second-in-command chuckled. "I'll be here when you get here. Ben out."

Gwen massaged her forehead briefly and stifled another yawn with the back of her hand. Extending her arms toward the high docking bay ceiling, she treated herself to long luxurious stretch. A cacophonous chorus of popping joints and tendons followed, and it occurred to her that she was much too young for her body to sound so bitterly old. Her long black hair had slipped into her eyes, and she combed her fingers through it thoughtfully, still gazing at the cannon. With a quick coil and twist, she affixed the errant hairs back into her tight topknot.

Gwen drifted away from the Phoenix and returned to the cluttered workbench. She stooped to pick up a few of the fallen blue prints and arranged them methodically on its surface, smoothing their ragged edges. Abruptly her vision shifted to a pair of sleek leather work gloves placed innocuously on a far corner of the table. She reached for them and then paused as her shirtsleeve crept connivingly up her arm, sliding away to reveal her hand, her wrist and a good portion of her arm.

The fluorescent lighting shone upon her skin as she swiveled her wrist. While not entirely startling, the luminous glow was enough to draw attention. A circular metallic disc, no larger than a data crystal, peeked out from her wrist's underside.

Like the gloves, it also seemed harmless.

Most days Gwen didn't allow herself to be aware of the past, but her guard was down today, and her resolve wasn't the impenetrable wall it had been in earlier years. She felt suddenly dizzy, and warmth that had nothing to do with the bay's erratic temperatures spiraled about her skin. For a few short moments she wasn't on the Ouzel. She was in a small darkened room with a bright light twisted severely in her face, and there was pain… unimaginable staggering pain. Her flesh was on fire, burning, smoldering, and she couldn't move, couldn't cry out, couldn't breathe...

A soft insidious voice murmured within her, and she winced, almost doubling over. _You are…you are become…_

A spectral hand gripped her shoulder, wrenching it tightly between stinging knifelike fingers. A second voice was smooth like honey in her head.

_Shade…shadow…_

And then in unison they whispered.

_Death… _

Gwen bit her lips hard to stifle a shriek that threatened to burst forth from them. The salty taste of blood filled her mouth, jarring the memory's all-consuming hold. She squeezed her eyes shut and gripped the table with a steadying hand_. _

_It wasn't real. It wasn't happening. He wasn't here. They weren't here._

Gradually the voices and the pain faded, and Gwen drew in a long quivering breath.

Shaking herself, she opened her eyes and turned away, quickly burying the restless memories. Her hand was clenched about the edge of the table, her fingers boring holes into the metal, and she carefully pried loose her grip. Straightening her coveralls with excessive care, she walked resolutely toward the bay's entrance.

The gloves remained on the worktable.


End file.
